


Recovery Mode

by Dulcinea



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hyperbolic Time Chamber | The Room of Spirit and Time, M/M, Protective Vegeta (Dragon Ball), Sickfic, Three Year Gap (Dragon Ball)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28977303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulcinea/pseuds/Dulcinea
Summary: Saiyans weren’t supposed to get sick.Leave it to Goku to break the mold.
Relationships: Son Goku/Vegeta (Dragon Ball)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 68





	Recovery Mode

Saiyans weren’t supposed to get sick. It was rare when either he, Raditz or Nappa came down with some sort of cold, and on the occasions they did, their Saiyan immune systems would knock back their sickness in a day or two. 

But of course, Goku just had to be the exception to this rule. 

Why it had to happen during their three years training together, in a dimension that was a never-changing white, endless void—it even maintained a comfortable temperature—still boggled Vegeta’s mind. Then again, the Saiyan in question did suffer from a heart virus that killed him in one timeline, and almost killed him again in this one, so it stood to reason that the man’s immune system took a hit back then and didn’t really recover. 

Of course, Goku tried to hide his symptoms at first. Sniffles and throat-clearing were blown off with excuses like, “I’m okay, you just hit me too hard!” Or, “Sorry, I didn’t sleep well last night, hehe!” Then the excuses turned downright pathetic as the coughs, wheezes, sneezes and snot-filled snorts accompanied every lame thing Goku said. “Must’ve eaten too fast!” “Should’ve watched your leg coming, hehe!” “I’m okay, I just need a drink of water, that’s all!” 

It took Vegeta putting his ungloved hand to Goku’s forehead mid-spar to snarl at him: “Bed. Now.”

Goku’s sheepish smile didn’t deter him, nor when he said, “Whaaa, really?? You wanna have sex right—”

“KAKAROT.”

At least the man had the decency to shut up and hold his hands up in defeat. He didn’t fight at all when Vegeta grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, fingers digging into his orange gi, and flew them over to their room in the chamber. Not once did Goku stop Vegeta from stripping him of his clothes, pushing him into the shower and patiently waiting for him to finish, holding a towel and a change of clothes when Goku emerged. He didn’t complain at all when Vegeta pointed to the bed without a word said, and he stayed quiet when Vegeta gave him aspirin, water and then promptly tucked him into bed. 

Like he expected, Goku’s symptoms worsened the next day. High fever, chills, wheezing cough, stuffy and runny nose, nausea, fatigue, aches and pains everywhere—all symptoms Vegeta had seen his son and Bulma endure once or twice. A flu, they called it, and he had seen similar viruses out in space that also presented symptoms like this. 

So he did what he would do if it was Bulma or Trunks who was like this, but—and he loathed to admit it to himself, but it was true—he went a step further than he had in the past with them. 

He monitored Goku. He fed him, helped him drink water, kept his head propped up on pillows, watched him nearby so he could see the steady rise and fall of his chest, listened to his breathing so he could sense whenever it turned shallow, helped him to the bathroom when he wanted to take a bath or shower. He even slept near him, far enough so he wouldn’t get sick—even though he was certain he wouldn’t get it—but close enough where if something went wrong, he could hear it and sense it and be there as quick as possible. 

All of the things he did for Goku were tolerable. It amused him a little at how weak and pitiful Goku was currently, and how his past self would’ve thrummed in excitement at attacking the man when he was at his most vulnerable. Now, Vegeta couldn’t fathom himself being that spineless and cruel. If he was ever going to defeat Goku, it wouldn’t be when he was sick. It would be when they were at their peak physical conditions, on a battlefield out in the universe far from any civilization, and Vegeta knew in his heart that when that day came, their fight would be _glorious._

But right now, he wouldn’t mind maiming Goku a little bit though.

_CLANG._

Vegeta sighed very, very loud.

_CLANG CLANG._

He continued stirring the large pot of soup in front of him with the wooden spoon, thick steam rising from within. 

_CLANG. CLANG-CLANG._

The vein on the side of his forehead pulsed and throbbed.

_CLANG._

His teeth ground together, a snarl rising up from his throat.

_CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG—_

He snapped his head in the direction of the bedroom and shouted, “Have some _fucking_ patience, Kakarot!” 

_CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG_ — 

“ _Grr!!_ ” Vegeta threw the wooden spoon to the side, picking up two oven mitts. “You keep this up and I’m eating this myself!”

 _CLANG CLANG CLANG_ — 

“You are worse than my goddamn _son!_ ” Even as he shouted, Vegeta poured the soup into the largest bowl the chamber housed. “And he’s _ten!_ ”

_CLANG CLANG CLANG—_

“If you don’t stop right now, I swear—”

 _CLANGCLANGCLANGCLANGCLANG—_

“SHUT THE _FUCK_ UP, KAKAROT!”

Silence.

Vegeta flopped his head back, releasing a long, long sigh of, “ _Fiiiinaaallllyyy_.”

He finished pouring the soup, placing the pot back onto the stove. Despite the ridiculous childish, petulant nature Goku sported the day he lost his voice, Vegeta still found himself smiling against his will. Goku must’ve noticed at some point, because he upped the ante with his ridiculous antics since then, and while it never failed to drive Vegeta completely insane, it never failed to make him laugh as well.

Placing the bowl onto a tray, along with a glass of cool water, Vegeta picked up the handles, its weight nothing to him. He turned around on his heel in the direction of the bedroom—

_CLANG. CLANG-CLANG. CLA-CLANG CLANG CLANG._

Vegeta paused mid-stride. 

_CLANG-CLANG. CLA-CLA-CLANG. CLANG CLANG-CLANG—_

He blinked once. Twice. 

_CLANG CLANG CLA-CLANG CLANG CLANG—_

Like usual, against his wishes, Vegeta felt himself smiling. He shook his head, muttering under his breath, “Idiot,” and a low chuckle soon followed. 

He pushed past the curtain that divided the makeshift bedroom from the kitchen, the sounds getting louder as he entered. When Goku lost his voice, pads of paper didn’t work, since the man had the worst handwriting Vegeta had ever seen in the known universe. The bell Vegeta found did the trick, until Goku the Walking Accident Saiyan broke it. So Vegeta improvised, giving Goku a pot from the kitchen and a steel spoon. He then communicated to Vegeta this way, and each time, Goku found a way to annoy him with it. Annoy and amuse him.

Vegeta walked right up to Goku’s bed, sitting the tray on the nightstand adjacent to it. 

On the bed itself laid a sick-as-a-dog Goku, his whole face flushed, his cheeks pink from fever, his sweaty bangs stuck to his forehead. The blankets rested around his waist, his chest bare, his head propped up by a mountain of pillows. On his pelvis rested the upside-down pot, with the large silver spoon pressed to its bottom. 

Goku grinned up at him. _CLANG CLANG._

“Yes, yes, hello to you too. Now put that damn thing away.”

_CLANG._

“Kakarot. Put it down.”

_CLANG._

“Don’t make me take it away from you.”

Goku frowned.

“Oh don’t give me that look!”

The frown deepened.

Vegeta warned, his hands coming onto his hips, “ _Kakarot..._ ”

Those black eyes of his went wide. 

“That’s not going to work on me.”

They went even wider, shining a little—Trunks called it ‘full-on puppy-dog mode’—and Vegeta agreed wholeheartedly with the sentiment.

“Kakarot,” he enunciated slowly, “All I’m asking is that—”

 _CLANG_.

He saw red. 

On top of his lungs, Vegeta shouted, “ _Put the goddamn fucking thing away so you can fucking eat!_ ” He slapped a gloveless hand hard to his face, the sound echoing throughout the chamber. Under his breath, he muttered, “ _M’ka_ , ze’ona im’bi.” _Fuck, you are the worst._

_Tap tap._

Vegeta growled, his hand skipping down over his face, pulling at the skin. “Oh _what now?_ ” 

When he looked ahead, he found Goku smiling, pointing the spoon to his mouth.

“Yes, you spoiled brat, I’m going to feed you.” Vegeta pointed down. “Now put it away.”

The pot ended up on the floor with the spoon. Vegeta took a nearby wooden stool and situated himself beside Goku, maneuvering the tray from the nightstand to Goku’s lap. He stirred the soup around while Goku took some of the ibuprofen Vegeta placed on the tray with the water.

“Still got no voice, huh?” he asked.

Goku shook his head no.

“Tch. Great.” He finished stirring. “But the fever broke and hasn’t come back, at least. That’s a good sign.”

Goku nodded yes.

Vegeta brought the spoon of soup to his own lips, blowing on it for a bit. He lifted it to Goku’s mouth, his free hand cupping underneath the spoon in case Goku spilled. “Here.”

He eased the spoon past Goku’s parted lips, keeping a steady hand underneath Goku’s chin to catch the stray drops. A comfortable silence passed as he fed Goku spoonful by spoonful, pausing only to help him drink the rest of his water.

Once the bowl was empty, Vegeta asked, “Do you want more?”

Goku shook his head no.

“If you want more and I’m not nearby, you can—” He sighed, gesturing to the floor, where the pot and silver spoon rested. “—summon me over.” 

The burst of energy Goku harbored earlier seemed to dissipate once he finished eating. Part of Vegeta was elated that he’d get a break from the man’s antics. But the other part—the one that won out—only focused on Goku and the small, tired smile the man gave him. A smile full of gratitude and love.

The sight of that smile, of Goku’s look that accompanied it, melted something inside Vegeta’s chest. A warmth filled him as he looked over Goku—how despite the sickness he was enduring, Goku looked… sweet. Downright cute. 

He found himself returning that smile, picking up the napkin on the tray to wipe at the residue soup on the corner of Goku’s lips. Vegeta watched Goku’s eyelids droop a little, his body relaxing even more into the bed. 

When he pulled his hand away, Goku mouthed two words to him: ‘Thank you.’

Vegeta chuckled, resting a hand over Goku’s on top of the sheets. He looked right at Goku as he ran his thumb over the skin in small circles, stopping to squeeze that hand for a brief moment before he pulled it away. 

“You want your toy now?” Vegeta asked, picking up the tray with both hands. 

Goku shook his head no, his eyes slowly blinking. 

“Okay.” He stood up from the stool with the tray. “Go to sleep then.”

A soft, negative whine from Goku, his mouth a frown, his nose scrunched up. 

“Don’t give me that. You’re about to pass out, so do it.”

Vegeta leaned over to plant a kiss to the top of Goku’s scalp. An anxiety he didn’t know he was harboring disappeared as he took in a good whiff of Goku’s scent, and he nuzzled the hair for the briefest of seconds before he pulled away. 

The sheet fluttered behind him as he returned to the kitchen, resting the tray on top of the kitchen table. Vegeta ate a pile of sandwiches he made earlier for himself, and once full, he made his way back to the bedroom, pushing the sheet to the side to peek in. 

Goku slept with his head turned to the right, flopped back on the pillows. A wheeze accompanied his steady breathing, but he thankfully wasn’t moaning in pain in his sleep anymore. 

Vegeta entered, coming right up to Goku’s side. He pressed a gentle palm to his forehead, pushing the bangs to the side. No fever still. It really wasn’t coming back. 

In his sleep, Goku muttered a little. Vegeta caught a sound like a word, a syllable of one. 

His sensitive hearing caught what Goku was muttering. 

“V… Veh…” Goku’s eyebrows knitted together. “Veh…ge…tah…”

Vegeta smiled.

He ran his thumb between Goku’s eyebrows, massaging the space in small, gentle circles. Soon, Goku’s face slackened, his whole body relaxing again, and Vegeta found himself relaxing with him too. 

When he took a seat on the stool again, Vegeta didn’t know. He hadn’t noticed himself moving, scooting right up to Goku’s prone form as he pet his hair from the top of his head to the side, repeating the motions again and again, until his arm ached. 

The plan to go practice katas on his own didn’t matter for now. Vegeta stood up and moved to his own bed on the other side of the room, grabbing a book from his own nightstand and flipping it open. 

Every twenty or so minutes, Vegeta stopped reading to check up on Goku, pressing a palm to his forehead, hovering fingertips over his mouth and under his nose to feel his breath, watching the rise and fall of his chest and belly. More than once, he wiped sweat away from Goku’s face, his fingertips lingering every time on some part of Goku’s sleeping face. His cheek. The corner of his lips. The curve of his jaw. 

On his last check up, he brushed the backs of his fingertips along the side of Goku’s cheek, whispering in a low voice, “Phumla ku’le, m’yo Kakarotto.” _Rest well, my Kakarot._

Soon after, Vegeta succumbed to a nap of his own, falling fast asleep over the bed covers. His body turned in the direction of Goku and remained that way as he slept on. 

Sometime during Vegeta’s slumber, Goku’s bleary black eyes blinked open, staring right at Vegeta across the room. Another very small, very tired smile appeared on his exhausted face at the sight—a smile that Goku kept as he fell back asleep, his eyes fluttering shut. 


End file.
